Jeanne, His Princess
by ThursdayEVargas
Summary: She had her father's icy blue eyes and reminded Francis of another woman by the same name: Jeanne. Based loosely on the Vichy government's collaboration with Germany during WWII.


AN: So, this idea was derping around in my brain juices for a long time. Flames will be used to bake scones and muffins.

XxX

Francis held his daughter close. He felt love and pride for the newborn. Of course, he wasn't proud to say Ludwig had fathered her. He thought for a second if he could get Roderich to help him hide her from her father. Of course he wouldn't, Francis thought sourly, the nobleman was simply enamoured with Ludwig.

Of course, the instant Ludwig took her, Francis knew she would be given a crude German name. French she would learn, but only for the sake of duty. He looked at her, sleeping soundly in his arms.

"Jeanne," he whispered. "Jeanne Bonnefoy." She continued sleeping and he smiled. She was his princess and he loved her dearly. Of course, German have no sense of timing.

XxX

Francis hated living with Ludwig. Same four walls everyday. Same food everyday. The only consolation was that the walls were thin enough-or he had finally gone mad enough- to hear Ludwig doting on her.

Francis would listen as he told her fairytales, mentally translating and whispering the words in French. Of course, Roderich had hated her. Francis chalked that up to jealousy.

Francis had been right about her being given a German name. Johanna. It didn't suit her as well as Jeanne did.

He wasn't allowed to see her, but he heard her. She had a melodious voice, something of royalty. She never whined or begged. He was proud of her, more so every day.

Once or twice, he had heard Ludwig refer to her by her country status. Vichy, the name of one of his own cities. Francis thought it was a bit mature for a girl her age, but he had no room to voice his complaints.

XxX

Francis looked down at his hands. He had been reunited with the Allies, but at the cost of his daughter's life. He looked up to find her smiling at someone else. One of her older brothers, Matthew. He did not return her smile, but looked at her with sympathetic kindness. Francis vaguely wondered where his children had received such kind hearts.

It pained him to see her up for trial. He knew she would be dissolved as a country. It pained him to think that his princess would be the cost of his freedom. He looked at Gilbert, who glared at him with malice. Gilbert had fawned over his niece and blamed Francis for her fate.

XxX

Francis stared at her. Her eyes were kind, but the same icy blue as her father's. Her hair reminded him of when Jeanne D'Arc's had been long and she complained about it getting in her way.

"Johanna," he said softly.

"Non," she replied, "Je m'appelle Jeanne."

Francis had smiled at this. "Who told you that?"

"Uncle Gilbert," she replied simply. "He didn't think Johanna suited me."

"I didn't either," Francis replied. "Johanna seems so simple for my princess."

"How many of your princesses end up like this?" she asked with a smile. Francis was quiet. The smile reminded him of Jeanne making her own fate lighter.

"Too many," he said at last.

"It is necessary, isn't it?" she asked softly.

"I wish it wasn't."

"Nothing lasts forever. Besides," she shrugged, "I made peace with this a long time ago."

Francis looked at her. She seemed no older than fourteen, but was much wiser than that. Perhaps even wiser than himself. His princess, blonde and blue-eyed, was going to be dissolved in a matter of hours. He started to weep.

She looked at him with sympathy. Where had the kind hearts of his children come from? How did they get so wise? Why didn't she scream about injustice and lament about her own end?

Elizabeta had found him and dragged him away from her. He hated the thought of being apart from her, but he couldn't stand to be near her again. He couldn't sleep that night, pacing back and forth until the sun came up.

XxX

It was a private affair, as the deaths of most countries were. A simple tree stump and an axe. He felt his princess deserved more, better, than some spare tool in the company of the Allies.

Francis saw her give him a pitiful smile. Her icy eyes were filled with kindness and love for him. She looked at her half-brothers, smiling at them too. This time, Matthew had returned her smile, but Alfred remained cold-hearted as ever. Arthur had radiated anger and rage at her, which she had ignored.

Ivan had taken the axe, being a strong nation unrelated to her. He felt no compassion, nor did he feel guilt at the death of another nation. Mercy was not a word he could define. He had shoved her harshly to her knees in front of the stump.

Elizabeta stood beside him. She was sympathetic in the way only a woman can be. She put a hand on his shoulder.

Ivan raised the axe above his head. Francis thought he would go mad if he watched the axe fall. He looked to Arthur, but found only some sadistic glee at a child that belonged to Ludwig being killed. Matthew, at least, seemed to have some guilt. Alfred's face was a mask, almost like the one of duty that Ludwig always wore.

Francis looked away, closing his eyes, but that didn't stop him from hearing the sound of his princess ending. Tears, more than he ever thought possible, fell. He didn't open his eyes. He wouldn't be able to bear it if he saw what the result was.

XxX

Elizabeta was the only one who seemed to get through to Francis. Her ex-husband and adopted son were both against her in this war. A childhood friend was dissolving slowly.

"Ludwig never let me bond with her," Francis said. "Last night was the first time we had ever spoken."

"She was beautiful," Elizabeta commented.

"She was smart. More than myself. She was a strong little princess."

"She looked smart."

"She was."

"She was named after the capital, wasn't she?"

"Oui. Hers was Vichy and mine was Paris."

"It'll take time, but it will get better," Elizabeta promised. Francis looked up at her blankly. "I promise."

XxX

He didn't have the heart to rename the city. It was the last trace of her. Most people had picture or objects, but Francis had her heart. It remained named after her. Still the mature name for what had been his beautiful little princess of only fourteen.


End file.
